


A Doll's Life

by CinnamonRoll321, SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonRoll321/pseuds/CinnamonRoll321, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: It was a tragedy in its own right, but better to live and see the world before the end than to rot within the same four walls.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I wrote this for the art I was assigned from the Geraskier Midwinter Bang, which you can see while reading the work below, and also by itself in Chapter 2!
> 
> The wonderful artist who inspired this story is [Drawing Sober](https://www.instagram.com/drawingsober/), check them out!
> 
> And thank you to my Beta, [Tia!](https://negativenuggetz.tumblr.com)
> 
> Enjoy!

Being cast aside in favor of the other toys of the season had not been the best way for either of the dolls to start their lives. The bard, having been modeled after the bards of court with the skill to play a lute, had entertained the children and adults for a time with his strumming and song. Then they tired of him, and he was placed back in his box to be forgotten.

The warrior had been modeled on the infamous Witchers, with the flourishes of his swords and the frightening displays of physical prowess he could perform when the key in his back was wound tight. But soon, he too bored the guests, unable to do more than slash wildly at the air with no true monsters to fight. So he was placed back in his box to be forgotten.

When the holidays ended and the boxes packed away, their creator looked sadly at the gifts he had made for the home. They were still, unwound, and the thought of leaving them to decay was not what he had planned for them. However, with the inability to change the nature of an item, he was left with another idea.

It was a tragedy in its own right, but better to live and see the world before the end than to rot within the same four walls. A breath of magic too strong to name, and instructions for the dolls to awaken to. Their gears would hold enough winding for a year each, and their ideas given voice to speak. And with that, the final instruction was cast, and the dolls were sent out into the world.

_ Live. _

After awakening, the bard had called himself Jaskier, and his companion had been cajoled to shorten his chosen name to Geralt. They trudged along through bitter snows that winter, and oftentimes Jaskier would be stuck trying to think of a tune, and Geralt errantly got his swords knocked away or dulled. By spring, they had the basics of their roles down, and found a city to truly begin their adventure.

With the melting snows and the bloom of flowers, the two dolls were called upon to fight a monster in the woods. This monster, a humongous rabbit-thing that lashed and snarled, was destroying the egg crop of every coop around the city. It was not a glamorous fight for Geralt, nor a particularly exciting one to set to music for Jaskier, but as they sat around a fire in the woods, Jaskier laughed for the first time.

Geralt could not find reason for his laughter, having never experienced the sensation himself. That is, until Jaskier repeated the musical refrain in his head, a hopping sort of melody that descended into chaos as it resembled the noises of their fight. As Geralt began to understand the joke, he too began to laugh at the absurdity of their situation.

It was this levity that cost him dearly the next fight. With the added flair Jaskier had added to the music, Geralt had underestimated his quarry. He had a finger shattered for that, and driving his sword into the monster to end its miserable existence, Geralt paused to take stock of his injury. A finger was dust on the ground, and the fine cracks spread to his wrist. At the fire that night, there was no levity, Jaskier taking in the wound in horror. They knew they were not human, it had been made clear from the start neither doll was sinew and blood. 

But to see the porcelain, jagged and unhealing, was a stark reminder of how fragile their existence was. Geralt noticed, even as he adjusted to his injury, it caused a different wound to his companion. Jaskier still kept his instrument in fine condition, but found himself unable to play a melody or even hum a tune as he was wont to do. He kept staring towards Geralt, an unknowable expression in his eyes. When the hunter had enough of the bard’s silence, he sat uncomfortably close, uncomfortably intimate next to the other at the fire.

He didn’t force the bard to speak, but he spoke, in his own stilting manner, how things died. It happened brutally, violently, at the jaws of a beast or the end of a sword. It happened slowly, as they had stumbled across a deer struggling with an infection that would clearly have taken days to find relief from its suffering without Geralt’s pity. Life didn’t begin at all, an egg knocked from the nest by a cuckoo, never hatched.

After a time, Jaskier nodded, looking at Geralt and for the first time in days his doll-glass eyes were not shaded by fear. That night, as the fire burned down, a soft tune from a lute filled the camp. Geralt felt a warmth fill his chest that was not from the heat of the flames as Jaskier sang of their adventures.

The nights wore on and soon the world around them heated up as they travelled. The sound of insects filled the air, and with the world coming to life came more people in need. Jaskier made quite the name for themselves in their wanderings, his music spreading faster than they did as people made merry to his songs. One travel, far afield, found them in a bustling city with a penchant for bards. Both of the living dolls, with no need for sleep, became a novelty for the populace.

But not all in the population of a city could appreciate two dolls stealing the attention and affection of its populace. The local bards who were not as good as a wind-up toy took great offense as Jaskier basked in the city’s adoration. Late one evening, in a pub far too rowdy for porcelain, a fight broke out.

Geralt, much more versed in finishing fights with monsters than humans, was at a disadvantage as the gang of humiliated bards attempted to break him. He got too focused on one opponent, and in his moment of distraction a horrible  _ CRACK  _ rang out. He spared no thought towards sparing the assailants after that, the pub awash in blood as he reached for his companion and ran.

Neither doll stopped running until they were deep into a forest no human dared tread. Geralt couldn’t bring himself to look towards the other as he gathered firewood to provide light, but with the flames burning bright Jaskier grabbed his hands and forced Geralt to acknowledge him.

A large portion of his head was cracked away, taking with it an eye, a significant portion of his forehead and much of what passed for his hair. Unlike the spring, in which Jaskier had been nearly inconsolable over Geralt’s loss of a finger, he seemed filled with calm. With their roles reversed, Jaskier slowly eased the guilt in Geralt’s heart by explaining what he had learned from the city.

He noticed in the city the comings and goings of the people, in and out of pubs and markets and any other manner of places they did not stay. They arrived at the pub, and between their coming and going, outside of the fight, he had watched all manner of humanity in his performance. Some were lovers, lost in another’s eyes. Some good friends, cherished closely and dearer than blood. Others alone, by choice or circumstance. They all heard his music, and cheered and danced for the songs they enjoyed.

Songs are not started just for them to end! It’s the space between the beginning and the end that mattered the most! That was what he had learned in that city, and as he cupped Geralt’s face with the earnestness of his plea, the slayer of monsters found his own shade of guilt vanquished, replaced with something warm and light.

They avoided large cities after that, too many humans off put as their porcelain cracked from use and Jaskier’s injury too noticeable to excuse. The smaller, poorer towns still held on to sacred hospitality, especially as two dolls required nothing in return besides kindness. Geralt continued to slay monsters, and Jaskier continued to perform, and between that they shared moments more tender than any love song.

As autumn grew wet and cold, an accident befell them. Jaskier had been walking alongside Geralt one moment, and with a sickening sound the next, tripped into the dirt. An accident, but his right leg, below the knee, was dashed against a rock. It shattered, shards of broken porcelain falling out of his clothes as the bard looked to his companion in shock.

Attempting to pick him up led only to more porcelain tinkling into the dirt, reflecting the sunny sky through the trees half-past losing their leaves. Geralt gently, ever so gently, set Jaskier back down and used a sharp dagger to cut away his pants to check the damage.

It was bad. Below Jaskier’s leg was gone, just shards in the dirt they had no way to re-attached. Looking into the broken face of his companion, Geralt couldn’t stop the pain he felt in his soul. Jaksier set his lip, placing a comforting hand on Geralt’s cheek and shaking his head. Geralt set his jaw, defiant, and picked up the breaking body of the bard to continue walking.

In the end, they found that Geralt was refusing to risk taking Jaskier on hunting missions with him to dispatch monsters, leaving him at the camp and, in his own words, telling the bard what happened and not arguing when he embellished the song. They strayed farther from humans, Geralt not wanting to risk another fight with people with the potential to slay them.

However, he could not stop the tug on his soul that pleaded with him to fight monsters, and he set out again and again to vanquish evil from the land. By night, Jaskier’s lute, now in nearly as rough of a shape as its master from their wanderings, would accompany the bard’s singing of Geralt’s exploits. Until the day Geralt’s articulated elbow was dislocated in the maw of a monster.

It was not broken off, not fully, but hairline cracks spread dangerously far from the joint and joined with the ever-widening cracks that had formed from his long-missing finger. He managed to win the fight with no more damage, but his elbow creaked dangerously at any potential movement.

When he made his way back to camp, he avoided looking Jaskier in the face, but the bard beckoned him over with a pleading gaze and forced him to sit still. Jaskier, pulling a strip from the tattered remains of cloth that made the trouser of his long-gone leg, began to gently wrap the porcelain above Geralt’s elbow up so it hopefully would not crack further. Geralt knew deep down, looking at their chipped, cracked bodies, it would be a fruitless endeavor.

But to see the look of content on his companion’s face, he was willing to endure anything, smiling softly as Jaskier began to whistle a tune from the summertime. Peace was not to last for the too as the last vestiges of autumn faded to a bitterly chilled winter.

The snow that began blanketing the land made their trek far more difficult, Geralt having found the best way to travel with Jaskier by carrying him on his back. The snow, at first gentle and beautiful, grew more treacherous as day by day the temperature sank. The days were growing ever-shorter, and as Geralt made a camp for the night he realized the cracks in his arm were beginning to connect to his chest.

Jaskier looked to be in the same rough shape, the porcelain above his missing leg losing small chips and some larger, worrying chunks day by day. Still, as the fire was lit and they settled into a night in the woods, Jaskier beckoned Geralt to sit with him on the rock so the bard could rewrap his arm, as he had taken to doing every day.

Geralt had been noting the length of the days, and as Jaskier sat there, absorbed in his task, he felt as if a small bit of his energy was draining. As he looked to the dark skies above, Jaskier’s humming reminded him of a conversation from summer. It appeared their song was drawing to a close as the year did, but looking towards his companion, Geralt found himself growing at ease with the idea.

The Path brought them into a small village, not noted on any map, that was abuzz with activity. There were candles in the windows, wreaths hung on the doors, and cheerful talk filling the air. While at first, some villagers looked to the two warily, mention of the songs Jaskier had penned in the large city had spread, and they were welcomed into the town. It was preparing for Midwinter, a celebration that the dark would soon leave, the air would warm, and the world would continue to follow its promised changing of the seasons.

A fellow musician in the town, taking in the poor shape of Jaskier’s lute after a year of travelling, offered to fix it up for the bard and have them play together. The village blacksmith, looking at the dulled state of Geralt’s swords, kindly took them to sharpen them as a gift in honor of the season. The alderman, welcoming them into her home, explained that what little they did have was shared with all at such an inhospitable time of year.

Looking to one another, the two companions knew that this would be the last stop in their journey. And with the kindness shown, it was as fine a spot as any other to see the coming ends. The end of the year and the looming end of their lives. The day of the Midwinter celebration came, the sun barely staying in the sky before it slunk out of view and plunged the land into darkness.

But all was not well as the small village celebrated the coming end of the winter. A terrible monster, stronger and more feral than any had seen before, broke through the woods and began to wreak havoc on the celebration. Jaskier, noting in seconds it was attracted to sound, shot a knowing look to Geralt. The bard used the strength of his voice to shout above the din, warning the people of the town to hide and stay silent.

As they followed his instructions, terrified, Geralt began to shout and clang his swords to draw the monster’s ire. The fight was long and bloody, after a time the monster knocked him down harshly. He winced as he felt chips fall out of his back, leaving a jagged gap between his shoulders. Still, Geralt pressed on, until shouting and the frantic strumming of a lute brought the monster’s attention off its opponent.

Jaskier was leaning, defiant, against a building and staring the monster down with his still-functional eye. His mouth was set firm, porcelain more likened to steel than fine china. The monster let out a hideous roar, lunging for him, and Jaskier swung the lute with such a resounding  _ CRACK _ even Geralt flinched.

The force involved proved to be the last of Jaskier’s strength as his arms shattered in their sleeves and the lute’s neck snapped from the force, held only by strings. He slumped down with the force of that blow, but he had bought Geralt precious time. Geralt let out his owm roar, the kind most humans could only wish to summon in their life’s most dire of circumstances, and charged the monster.

In the second round of their battle, with the townsfolk watching and praying in silent hope, Geralt’s sword was snapped in half. The monster grabbed him in its powerful maw, ready to bite down and finish the fight. With the last of his strength, Geralt plunged the sword into the monster’s eye, down to the hilt and even slightly past. The monster dropped him to scream in pain, Geralt crawling back to avoid its powerful limbs as it thrashed in its death knell.

It finally keeled over, dead, and Geralt pushed himself up to stagger to his companion, leaving shards of porcelain in the snowy mud as he sat, heavily, next to the bard. They could both feel their strength fading, the gears magic winding down as the rosy-fingered dawn began to grace the stars above.

Geralt, with his arm that had been so lovingly bandaged, wrapped it around Jaskier’s shoulder and held him close as the magic faded, the sound of cracking china the only noise in the quiet of the night.

When the villagers were brave enough to come out to see the remains of the battle, the grizzly sight of a dead monster was the first to greet them. It took the cry of a child to find the sadder sight of their saviors, magic gone leaving broken porcelain in travel-worn clothes. The alderman set to work with handing out tasks, as she was given the broken lute and the shattered sword.

The villagers grabbed any piece of porcelain they found, reverently placing them in a trunk that was designated to become a casket. The lute and sword were placed in a public part of the alderman’s home, and the fellow musician penned a song describing the heroics of the two travellers who had come to town.

Come the spring thaw, the trunk full of porcelain was buried, a simple pile of stones marking where the two companions were placed in their final rest. Every Midwinter after that, when a small village with no marking on the map celebrated the coming end of the bitter cold, they raised a toast to their saviors. As the winters wore on, and the number of those who had seen the battle dwindled, the tale was embellished and spread.

And so, for two dolls whose fate was to chip away in boxes, forgotten, they found their own form of life in the dead of winter. The music the bard had penned continued to spread across the land, and those the errant warrior had saved were in turn inspired to help others in their travels. Love, loss, and life were given to two dolls who spent a precious year together.


	2. Art Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is[ Drawing Sober's ](https://www.instagram.com/drawingsober/)amazing art that inspired this work!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, thank you very much for reading!


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